Man of the Family by Ralph Moody Page B

to carry all the cookery I’d have to deliver Saturday. But the more I thought about its wabbly little wheels and narrow spindly axles, the more I knew it would never be strong enough. Then I remembered about the dump.
    The dump was at the other end of town from where we lived—over toward the foundry, where the streetcar tracks went under the Denver highroad. The last time I’d ridden Lady past it, I’d seen an old baby carriage. It was upside down and the body was all smashed, but it had looked as though the wheels and axles were in pretty good shape. I knew they were just what I needed, so I pulled my overalls on, slid down the banister, and went to get it.
    It was moonlight enough that I could see pretty well, but there had been a lot of trash thrown on the dump, and I had a terrible time digging the old carriage out. Then I couldn’t get the body off, so I had to wheel it home as it was.
    After school the next day, Dutch Gunther came to help me build the baby carriage over into a wagon, but we couldn’t make it work very well. The back wheels were twice as big as the front ones, and we didn’t know how to fix it so it would steer without having the front end wabbly. At last I told Dutch we’d better take it down and see Mr. Langworthy. He was the blacksmith, and he knew everything about wagons.
    I didn’t know Mr. Langworthy very well then, and I didn’t think he knew me, but he did. First he said he’d heard I did a good job of getting the cattle through town. Then, after a couple of minutes, he said, “If you turn out to be as good a man as your paw, you’ll do all right. Anything I can help you with?”
    He looked at the wheels and axles of the baby carriage a minute or two, then said, “Kind of spindlin’, ain’t they? But they’ll most likely hold up till you can get some better ones. You’ll need a fifth wheel and a high bolster in the front. Let’s see what I got around here.”
    After he’d made us a fifth wheel, so the front end wouldn’t tip in going around corners, Mr. Langworthy drew us a plan with charcoal on a piece of board. Then he told me how to put the parts together with bolts and lag screws that he gave me from pigeonholes behind the forge.
    I told him I’d come in the next day to pay him, but he said, “Forget it, Little Britches, your paw always give me his business when he was living . . . fine man . . . sorry you lost him.” The way he said it made my throat hurt when I tried to thank him.
    It was dark before we got away from the blacksmith shop, but the next morning we went to work on the wagon right after breakfast. Dutch was a better carpenter than I, and with Mr. Langworthy’s plan to go by, we didn’t have very much trouble. Of course, some of the pieces weren’t sawed very straight, and, even without a load, the wagon was pretty heavy. But it wasn’t wabbly, and we had it all finished by one o’clock. The only part of it that I invented was the shafts, and that was easy. I just bolted the baby carriage handle onto the front axle.
    Mother had the beans in a big stone crock and the Injun pudding in a smaller one. She had me nail shelves in an apple box for the pies, and Grace lined an egg case with napkins for the doughnuts and brown bread. By the time we’d put the quart measures and ladles on, there wasn’t much room left in the wagon—and it was as heavy as a stone drag. I pulled from inside the shafts, and Philip pushed from behind. We both wore our shoes and stockings, and Mother gave me a little book with all the names and orders in it. She told me to mark down how much I collected from each of the ladies, and not to come home till I had gone in and paid the grocery bill at Mr. Shellabarger’s.
    The delivery worked just backwards from the way the order taking did. Down on our side of the tracks I didn’t have a bit of trouble. All